


Unmapped

by jumpcannon1



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/M, and I wondered how he'd react if they had to leave the town before he could find it, dewey tries to help but it doesn't work, huey is sulky after losing his JWG, it means a lot to huey, junior woodchuck guidebook, one day I'll write something from webbys, this is from huey's pov again, webby also talks with him and does a much better job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 06:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpcannon1/pseuds/jumpcannon1
Summary: It's no surprise that Huey's upset after losing his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook after their trip to the town that definitely wasn't nice. Or that Dewey is more interested in jumping out of a plane to explore an island he's only glimpsed out of the window.But Webby understands what it means to him.She knows the power of harnessing ink and paper to document what's in your heart and on your mind, as well as how important it is to live in the moment. And if Huey can stop ranting for a moment, she might get a chance to tell him.





	Unmapped

**Author's Note:**

> So this started off a three sentence unpublished headcanon post but somehow grew into this.  
> It’s set at the end of The Town Where Everyone Was Nice! and has awkward first crush feelings between them, nothing more.  
> The title was inspired by this quote: “There is a great deal of unmapped country within us.” - George Eliot
> 
> Any comments or feedback will always be appreciated. Thank you for reading!

In a back seat of the Sunchaser, as it soars above the sparkling ocean and away from the town that was definitely not nice, Huey looks out of the window and sighs.

‘Why so gloomy Huey?’ Dewey dumps himself heavily into the seat next to him. 'Gloomy and Huey, those words almost rhyme. Is it because you didn’t take any pictures? Is that why you're looking the way you do? But it’s not too late to take one now because I got my phone back, look! Webby found it.’

And without waiting for a response Dewey clambers over Huey to look out of the window himself. With one hand he takes out his phone and begins to snap pictures indiscriminately, while the other presses down on Huey’s head so he can balance. 

Huey shoves him away hard and mutters something inaudible.

‘I wonder how far up we are?’ Dewey wonders out loud, unfazed by Huey’s roughness because it’s already been forgotten. ‘If I took a parachute I could totally land on that tiny island there. Yeah I’d soar majestically to the top of that coconut tree like a majestic coconut bird, and after I climb down and touch solid ground I’ll give a name to my newly discovered land – Great Dewdonia! National anthem currently pending, and then I’ll find some treasure since there’s got to be an x marks the spot somewhere it’s an _island_. I’ll make my fortune and sell the movie rights and I’m gonna get a parachute now don’t follow me down until I’ve landed and given you the all clear!’

Dewey springs up and Huey immediately grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back into his seat.

‘But you’d have an advantage!' Dewey exclaims, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and his brother would be a fool to turn it down. 'None of the others know my all clear signal so you’d see it first and become the _second_ person to step foot on Great Dewdonia.’ He then makes a complicated hand signal involving all of his fingers and an elbow. ‘See?’

Huey’s face is sour. ‘I see that you need a seatbelt or ten to be strapped in with.’

Dewey glances down at their seats and then exhales in relief. This is Launchpad’s plane – of course there aren’t any seat belts. He then looks at Huey as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Seriously, what’s with you?’

Huey lets out another long suffering sigh and looks back out the window. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me.’

Huey’s eyes swivel to meet his brother’s. Dewey now has his hands clasped in his lap and looks the picture of polite concern. But in one, two, three, yep there he goes, he’s starting to fidget and glance around. Huey lets out a softer sigh. It wouldn’t do any harm telling him. And maybe he could distract him from running off to take the plane’s one and only parachute.

‘Remember the giant carnivorous plant that tried to eat us all?’

Dewey’s movements freeze and he widens his eyes. ‘A giant plant you say? And it tried to eat us? Why Hubert I had no idea that literally just happened to all of us thank you so much for telling me, you truly are the smartest of us all.’

Rapier sharp wit and withering sarcasm aren’t Dewey’s greatest gifts, but he gets points for not being afraid to try.

‘I was fighting the plant off with my book but I dropped it,’ Huey explains patiently. ‘And after we were freed I went back to get it but I couldn’t find it. It’s gone.’

‘What book?’

‘My Junior Woodchuck Guidebook. What other book did you think I meant?’

‘I don’t know! You like lots of books so it could have been any one.’

‘It wasn’t just any book, it was _my_ book.’

Dewey looks at his older brother critically. And somewhat pityingly. ‘So just get another copy. Are you telling me the Junior Woodchucks don’t have any spares to hand out?’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Then what is the point?’

‘The point,’ Huey enunciates crisply, ‘Is that my unique copy is now lost. All the knowledge I’ve collected and added to it is now just gone. Just – gone.’

‘No it’s not.’

Huey begins to argue but Dewey interrupts with ‘You remember it right? All that nerd stuff you added? Just get another copy and write it out again.’

Huey runs a finger hard across the armrest next to him. ‘I can’t remember everything I’ve added to it. Some, yes, but not all of it. Even if I tried I couldn’t remember it all. I don’t have what’s commonly known as an eidetic memory.’

‘That’s…good? I’m…sorry?’

Huey rolls his eyes. ‘And that’s still not the point!’

Dewey throws his arms up in exasperation. ‘You just said the point was that you lost it, so if there’s another copy available you can get another one and write out as much as you can remember. This is not a big deal!’

‘But my copy was mine Dewey, it was mine!’ Huey’s eyes ignite. ‘It contained hours of hand written additions based on my first hand experiences and observations and is irreplaceable! I can’t go back to using a beginner’s copy because it’s not the same. It’s worse, it’s less. Is that what you think I deserve Dewey? Is that what you think I am? A loser? A loser who has to use a loser’s book? Is this because I didn’t add Dewfish to my book and now you want Dewdonia in it as well, and you’re trying to take advantage of the fact I don’t have documented proof to use against you because I don’t have my book anymore to prove you wrong and even if I did have it you'd grab it and slap me in the face with it?’

Dewey’s look now slides into genuine concern. He’s been beside Huey when he flipped out about the Waddle Internship and was one flutter kick away from attacking Fethry in his own lab. It would be just his luck to deal with another bout of Huey Despair-Rage when they’re millions of feet in the air and no longer have Great Dewdonia to crash land on, since his unclaimed land is now fading away into the distance.

After one quick look out the window (farewell Noble Dewdonaia the Great, I vow to find you again one day) Dewey crosses his arms and focuses on his unstable older brother.

‘When we get back to the manor we’ll get you another copy and you can start writing in new nerd stuff as well as the old stuff you can remember. And I fully I understand the concept of possession Huey; I know what ‘mine’ means. My island is now lost to sea and will become overrun by unscrupulous pirates who’ll sell it on to a property developer, but you don’t see me sulking about it. You have to move on to the next one.’

Huey narrows his eyes at him. Dewey no doubt thinks he’s putting on a convincing show of superiority, but Huey can see right through him. Dewey’s body language is one of firm concern, but his mind and heart are clearly elsewhere, no doubt dwelling on that stupid island fantasy of his. If he had bothered to read even the first page of the Pre-Trip Planning Binder he and Webby had created he’d have known that that speck of land they’d passed over was called Kroloz, which became the possession of Brazil back in 1878 after a disturbingly short war with Australia. Its history is fascinating. But of course Dewey didn’t care about that. His willful ignorance deserves to be punished, so Huey decides not to tell him anything about the island’s history and self-sustaining mixed economy which uses melted rare earth minerals as its counter currency and has an enviable exchange rate. That’ll teach him.

‘That’s the spirit!’ Dewey declares brightly. ‘I knew I’d make you smile!’

Huey rolls his eyes again.

Dewey puts a gentle hand on Huey’s shoulder. It appears that he’s going to say something comforting, something thoughtful and surprisingly insightful. Huey’s hopes begin to lift at the stable and earnest look on Dewey’s face. 

‘Are,’ Dewey says slowly as Huey leans into him, ‘…we done? Are we done with all of this?’ 

Huey’s head flops back onto the headrest. ‘Yeah we’re done.’

‘And you’re not gonna go Plane Crazy on us are you? Like – you’re not going to go crazy on this plane?’

‘I’m not going to go crazy.’

Dewey lets out a loud sigh of relief and scrambles away.

Huey turns his head to look back out the window. Life is barren and meaningless.

The recently vacated seat next to him is immediately filled again, and there’s an inhalation of air as its occupier prepares to speak. Something in Huey snaps and he’s had enough, he can’t deal with Dewey’s inability to grasp simple concepts and his stupid ideas about stupid Dewdonia and he spins around irritably because why can’t Dewey get it through his stupid thick head that he’s no help whatsoever and should just shut up and leave him alone so he spits out _‘Go Away,’_ at the exact same time Webby says ‘Hi Huey.’

Well that’s just great, that’s just perfect.

Maybe he’ll go and find Dewey after all and grab his arm and they can both jump out of the plane together and swim back to Great Dewdonia. Dewey won’t mind they won’t have parachutes. In fact he’ll welcome it, he’ll relish it.

But Huey’s frozen in place and can’t even close his mouth.

‘Sorry,’ Webby says quickly. ‘I’ll go.’ She starts to lift herself back off the seat.

‘No!’ Huey’s jolted back to life at this terrible possibility and he snatches at her arm. ‘Don’t go. I’m sorry, I thought you were Dewey and I meant that for him, not you.’

Webby looks at him, and makes a decision as to how she wants to respond. ‘You meant that horribly rude and insultingly dismissive command was meant to be yelled point blank in your younger brother’s face?’

_‘Yes!’_

Webby waits a beat and then breaks into a grin. ‘Understandable. Today has taught me that the direct approach is just as unsatisfying as the indirect approach when it comes to telling him what to do. And besides, he wouldn’t remember it for long before he got distracted by something else.’

‘Exactly.’ Huey’s heart rate plummets with relief that she’s already forgiven him and is still here. ‘Hot tip for you – just mention ‘Dewdonia’ and he’ll snap out of anything.’

‘Duly noted.’

Huey smiles at her. She smiles back at him. His hand is still on her arm and she hasn’t made a single movement to dislodge it. In fact she’s now shuffling closer, and is leaning into him with wide warm eyes. His heart rate sprints back up to panic, overtakes fear, and cruises into a speed considered dangerous by everyone without a medical degree and critical bordering on fatal by everyone with one. 

‘So, uh,’ he says raspily, clearing his throat once, twice, three then four times and he wishes with all his heart that he didn’t sound like an end stage plague victim. ‘Why are you here Webby, what’s your agenda?’

He once wondered if Launchpad’s plane’s windows were really just strips of transparent duct tape held in place with luck and wishful thinking, instead of precision cut and professionally fitted panes of lexan polycarbonate. He strongly believes this is now the time to find out. If the window next to him is just strips of tape (please let it be tape please let it be tape) he could punch through them and be sucked out into the vast unforgiving sky in an instant. 

He clenches a fist and begins to turn around.

‘I’ve got something for you.’

‘Oh that’s great, thanks.’ His voice now sounds like he’s smoked four packs of cigarettes every day for the past sixty years. But she hasn’t slunk back in horror at the sound of him. Or made any movement indicating that she doesn’t want his hot hand on her bare arm. He swallows. 

‘Yeah? What- what is it?’ Make that five packs over eighty years. He clears his throat loudly and clenches his other hand so hard his knuckles burn white.

The look on Webby’s face evolves from contentedness to apprehensive concern, and becomes a mirror image of how Dewey was just looking at him. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks instead.

And then it hits him that Dewey’s told her all about his rage episodes. Of course he has. He must have. He must have told her in excruciating detail about how he rants and raves and throws logic and rational behaviour out the window when he’s angry and and how he’s had to be physically restrained when he’s felt cheated. A hot javelin of shame spears him straight in the stomach and explodes like a firework.

‘Yes Webbigail I am fine thank you very much how are you?’

Webby’s look of concern deepens. ‘You don’t look OK. Are you sick? You’re clenching your stomach and gritting your teeth and you look like you’re going to vomit.’ Without hesitation she puts a hand on his clenched fist and squeezes it reassuringly. His other hand is still on her arm and she’s moved even closer to him. Her mouth is now hovering above his shoulder and her breath’s on his neck and ear. ‘Now you look like you’re going to faint.’

‘I’m fine,’ Huey whispers.

‘No you’re not.’

‘…no, I’m not.’

‘What’s wrong?’

It’s not lying if he doesn’t tell her the primary reason why his body is betraying him like this. ‘I…’

But.

But if he tells her the secondary reason and starts complaining about his book she might just Look at him. She’ll give him a lukewarm assurance that it isn’t the end of the world and he shouldn’t be so upset, and to stop making such a big deal over something that can be replaced. She’ll then covertly look around for an escape route and make a secret gesture of help and distress that she and Dewey have no doubt come up with together.

Now he really does feel like he’s going to be sick.

She and Dewey are in sync over a lot of things, including him. Probably him. Maybe him? She does love books and documenting and researching as much as he does and Dewey doesn’t so that’s something, but they’re adventure buddies and Dewey’s spent more time together with her than he has. So they probably are closer, not in everything but surely in the ways that matter, and right now what matters most to him is a book as well as what she thinks and success on either of these fronts are looking worse than hopeless.

‘Dewey took photos out of the window,’ Huey says in a rush. It’s a pathetically obvious changing of topics and he’s rightfully ashamed at himself. If he does end up being sick he’ll make an effort to do it over his own feet as a just punishment.

‘…uh-huh…’

Webby makes it clear she isn’t remotely convinced or impressed by his evasion. But she must have looked at his pathetic face and decided that to not go along with him would be like drop kicking a puppy that’s just woken up from lifesaving surgery.

‘Yeah…he was happy that I found his phone and gave it back to him. He wasn’t so happy about the photos on it though, including that one of me, which if you think about it is for the best since that’s the lesson I was trying to teach him all day.’

Something struggles through the gloopy mess that is Huey’s thoughts and pinches him.

‘He…deleted a photo of you?’

‘Huh? Oh, yeah, it was just a dumb one of me. I can’t blame him really since we were about to be eaten alive by a killer plant and he didn’t want any memories of that. Especially since he looked a terrified mess and I looked the opposite.’

‘He deleted a photo of you?’ Huey says again, this time louder and steadier.

Webby nods slowly. 'Yes.' She says this like she doesn’t want to repeat herself for a third time because the concept really isn't that difficult to grasp, but she will if she has to. And also that it isn't a big deal and he should change the subject back to her original one.

But Huey’s been gifted an opportunity to keep the subject changed and to clear some of his churning emotions that he really doesn’t want to have but also sort of does.

And also because it _is_ a deal to her. It might not a big one but it has affected her, he can see that. He can see that clear as day. He can see it in the way her shoulders are set, how wide her pupils are, and how that crease at the side of her mouth that only appears when she’s suppressing something upsetting twitches every one point three seconds.

‘He’s lazy,’ Huey says hotly. Yes this is good – the opportunity to criticize Dewey and make her feel better at the same time has appeared like a lifeline. 'Saving an individual picture would have required another swipe and a tap and a few more seconds and that's clearly far too much work for him. He’s lazy and restless and that’s a terrible combination but he was dropped as an egg so what can you do.’

'It's OK.'

Huey looks at her seriously, and squeezes her arm without thinking about it. ‘It is not OK. Dewey’s your friend and should have behaved better. He should have behaved better towards you all day from what I’ve heard.’

‘It’s just a photo,’ Webby says quickly, as if she wants to brush the whole incident away because it’s upsetting him. She glances down at Huey’s hand on her arm and swallows. ‘It was just a picture of my dumb face, nothing interesting.’

‘That’s not true,’ Huey practically snarls, as if his sworn enemy had just insulted them both.

‘You- you don’t think it is? It isn’t?’

_‘No._ Dewey needs to learn that a failure to plan is to plan to fail. He can’t just brush off your concerns and desires as soon as it involves a tiny bit of selfless effort on his part. You spent all day trying to open his mind and spend time with him and share knowledge and he just dismissed you, like an empty Pep can he can’t be bothered to put in the recycling bin because it involves taking an extra step to the side and he’s stupid. He’s stupid not to see that he lost the greatest gift in the world of being with you in order to experience a cultural tradition you didn’t know about. Did he know how rare that was? Of course he didn’t, he can’t calculate, not in numerical or social terms and he just threw away a winning lottery ticket because he couldn’t be bothered to check the last number. And what’s worse is he’ll live his life in happy ignorance and have no idea about what he missed because he was too busy helping his Uncle with his Uncle and never got a chance to update his book with anything unique because the only unique thing he saw was Scrooge admitting his back hurt and that falls far short of what constitutes a Junior Woodchuck Guidebook addition but that’s a moot point anyway because that book is now gone and he didn’t get to experience one single thing with you and now this stupid trip is over and we’ll never get to do it again!’

Huey takes a deep shuddering breath and sinks back into his seat.

Ah that feels so much better. He always feels better after a good rant, like a build-up of mild poison has been purged with the perfect amount of self-satisfaction dolloped in as a sweetener.

There is a motionless heavy silence next to him.

Huey blinks.

Why are both his hands flopped palms up at his side, as if they’re exhausted from so much gesticulating? Why isn’t his hand still on Webby’s arm? Why isn’t she touching his hand? Why is now sitting so far away?

Why is that still heavy silence next to him radiating a temperate he’s painfully unfamiliar with?

Huey’s poison bucket stands itself up wearily.

It peels off the label saying Dewey and slaps a much larger one on that screams _YOURSELF!_ in blood red block letters. It begins to fill quickly and painfully.

‘That-’ he splutters, horrified.

He’s just ensured she’ll never speak to him again. She’s just seen him at his worse. Well nearly his worse, since he managed to refrain from biting anything this time.

He closes his eyes as a fresh wave of mortification washes over him like acid.

‘I’m sorry.’

Huey’s eyes snap open. ‘What? Why are you sorry?’

‘You’re upset,’ Webby says. ‘I should have just told you why I came over to you instead of-’

‘Don’t apologise! I’m the one who should apologise.’

‘We both could.’

‘But you don’t have anything to apologise for!’

‘I do.’

Huey can feel his mouth hanging open. This is bizarre. ‘Look,’ he says firmly. ‘I’m sorry for getting worked up over my book and for taking it out on you. And- and on Dewey.’ He really really doesn’t want her to badmouth him to Dewey again, so if he can make it up to him then maybe she’ll forgive him and think better of him. Not that he has any proof Dewey’s said anything negative about him or that they both spend fun-filled hours badmouthing him, but they _could_ have. He doesn’t have to apologise to Dewey of course since it’s Dewey, but…

But.

…is that true? Can he really take his brother’s forgiveness and acceptance for granted? Whenever he’s argued with his brothers most of the time they’ve made up by just pretending the incident never occurred in the first place. They’ll ignore each other and exchange glares, but after a while they’ll be drawn to each other again and will pick up a conversation mid-way through as if the fight had never happened. But what if he should be making the first move to show regret and demonstrate how to fix your mistakes? He is the oldest and the most responsible and it’s all well and good telling everyone that they have to behave more responsibly, but his actions often don’t support his words. His bitingly sharp words and actual biting.

Huey swallows. ‘I- I shouldn’t have been so harsh with him, with Dewey, both to him out loud and in my mind because I said a _lot_ to him in my mind,’ he says quickly before she can interrupt him with another pointless apology. ‘I know he was just trying to help in his own way and I shot him down because I didn’t like his advice because it’s-…it’s hard to accept when something you love is gone, isn’t it. But in a way if you’ve experienced it then it’s not really gone at all. It’s just changed. And change is not always for the worse.’ He drums his fingers on his leg for a long few seconds. ‘I’m sorry I yelled. And ranted. Uncle Donald has a lot to answer for despite being the best, and- and I’m sorry for the way I said those things to you but- but not that I said them. Well some of them, not all of them, you know, _those_ things that I said.’ He slumps back in his seat and wipes his forehead in exhaustion.

‘It’s OK,’ Webby says with heart. ‘And I _do_ know. What you’re saying. What you said. I feel the same. Sort of. Not about everything but about _you know_.’ She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

Their eyes meet and they don't look away.

Webby takes another deep breath. ‘And I _do_ have something to be sorry about.’

Huey looks at her in bemused disbelief.

‘I was inpatient with Dewey too,’ Webby explains. ‘He wanted to document his trip as well, but in a different way as to how I think it should have been done.’ She then looks through him, as if she’s found a way to re-wind time and has momentarily transported herself back. Then she blinks and re-focuses. ‘Pretty selfish, huh.’

‘No, absolutely not. You’re one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met Webby. Your way of experiencing a trip and documenting it is way better than Dewey’s choice to view it through a screen and take photos just so strangers on the internet can give him praise. That’s being selfish.’

Webby fiddles with a loose thread on her shirt’s sleeve. ‘I guess, but…but he still wanted to share his experiences with others. Even if it was just with the six people that follow his social media profile, one of which is me and two I’m sure are government approved spy bots. I just wanted to keep mine to myself. Well not completely to myself, I did want to share them with y-’ She breaks off and pulls hard at the loose thread.

Huey looks at her. And feels guilty. She’s upset she didn’t treat Dewey better and that her motivations weren’t completely selfless. ‘Don’t feel bad,’ he tells her. ‘It’s normal to want to keep things to yourself, as well as to share some of them with some people.’

Webby looks warmly at him.

‘I…’ Huey begins, and then prattles out the rest before he can think too hard about it. ‘Wished I’d been able to experience and document the trip with you, it would have been much more fun and interesting and you could have helped me improve my Portuguese and maybe we would have figured out the killer plant warning earlier but we didn’t and,’ he says quickly, both to change the subject and also because the thought has just occurred to him, ‘All his photos have been backed up on his cloud storage anyway.’

Webby inhales sharply. ‘Oh yeah!’

‘He’s probably forgotten,’ Huey continues, his tone becoming sardonic. ‘If he does remember he’ll then forget the complicated password he needs to access them. It’s a good thing he has it written down in three separate _hiding_ places.’

‘Dewey.’  
‘Dewey.’

They both say the password at the same time. They look at each other in perfect harmony, and if Huey could duplicate this moment and store it in a picture he’d pay any price to do so. But he also understands that some things are meant to be experienced instead of trapped. They’re meant to be drunk slowly and enjoyed without distraction, so they can be absorbed fully and become part of who you are.

Time stretches perfectly, like a sunrise along a beach. And like any parcel of time it can’t last forever. But that’s OK, because he’s confident there’ll be another one just over the horizon.

‘And, you know,’ Huey then says, as if admitting the next words could be tantamount to admitting a disgusting crime but he’s going to confide in her anyway. ‘It isn’t the worst idea to take some photos of our adventures. I don’t have any. Just what I’ve written in my Guidebook.’

The recollection that he’s lost his book takes him by complete surprise and punches him so hard in the gut it drives the breath from his lungs. ‘But I don’t even have that anymore,’ he grimaces.

Webby smiles broadly at him. ‘You lost it.’

Huey works his mouth to prevent himself from saying something he’ll immediately regret. ‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘You’re similar, you and Dewey,’ Webby says. ‘He was distraught when he thought his phone was lost and you’re just as bad that you lost your book.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘But I’m…glad you’re more similar to me than to him even though it wouldn’t be terrible if you weren’t because opposites do attract as well as non-opposites and I’m just saying and you know what I mean.’

Huey nods, because he does know what she means. ‘I’m…glad you’re less like him too,’ he tells her, after winning a hard fight to temporarily push away the ache of his loss. ‘Even though that wouldn’t be terrible because despite all of his terrible faults Dewey isn’t bad. He’s OK, I guess, but you-…well you’re great. You really are.’

Webby beams. She’s warmer than the late afternoon sun streaming through the plane’s windows. ‘I didn’t tell you why I wanted to talk to you in the first place.’

‘You didn’t.’

Webby tilts her head, still smiling, and Huey mirrors her. He makes it obvious that this is what he’s doing, and immediately has to smiler wider to keep up with her. ‘You still aren’t.’

Still at an angle, Webby reaches down beneath her seat with one arm. ‘After I found Dewey’s phone I also found…this!’ And with a flourish she sits up straight and holds out his Junior Woodchuck Guidebook.

‘My book!’ Huey cries in delight as he snatches it from her. ‘You found it! You got it back! Webby you are the absolute best I’ll do anything for you I swear I will I’m going to write this down right now on the front page and then laminate it.’ 

He’s light-headed with relief and joy and doesn’t see Webby’s face flush scarlet. 

‘It’s no big deal,’ Webby says, convincing neither of them. ‘Just glad to return property to its rightful owner.’

Huey gives his book a hard tight hug against his chest. 

‘If you _do_ write that,’ Webby says in a half-joking tone, ‘it would take up a lot of space. And mess up the minimalist design the Junior Woodchucks looked like they were trying to go for.’

Huey studies the red front cover of his beloved book. It’s no longer in pristine condition, and is covered with the battle scars of constant use. Huey traces a fingertip over the letters 'JWG' that are proudly imprinted on the front. It really could do with being laminated and protected.

‘Writing out ‘Webby Is The Absolute Best’ would take up a lot of space,’ Huey agrees. He doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s disappointed and is putting on an award winning performance to hide it. He takes out a pen he keeps taped to the underside of his hat and takes the cap off it.

He steadies the book on his knees and squints down at it. He calculates sizes and spaces and then, in bold confident strokes, writes out the letters WITAB. They go from top to bottom and form a column of perfectly spaced letters down the left hand side of the cover.

‘There,’ he says in satisfaction as he replaces the pen’s cap. ‘Written documentation wins again. Well this time anyway.’

Webby studies the book. She also uses a fingertip to trace the letters he’s just added. But she does so besides them, not over them, as if she’s fearful of smudging the still drying ink. Huey feels his chest tighten at such consideration. She looks at him and this is another moment he’s going to add to his prized mental vault. Memories forged by experiences may not be as dependable as the written word, but they suddenly feel so much better.

‘Maybe,’ Webby says carefully, ‘maybe none of our individual documentation methods are the best. Written; visual; mental recollection; they’re all good, but maybe they’d be better off together.’ She says this like she wants nothing more in the world than for him to agree with her.

And the thing is he does agree with her – sharing an experience and then documenting it sounds like the perfect combination. Especially if you’re with the right person.

Huey nods. ‘Being together is good. And we could...still share the day together,’ he suggests hesitantly. ‘I could, you know, write down what you did in my Guidebook. And maybe we can print off one of Dewey’s photos and include that as well, one where his dumb face is in it the least.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Webby agrees instantly, which replaces the tightness in his chest with a solid warmth. ‘I have a near eidetic memory you know. And I know science has failed to produce any concrete evidence proving such a thing even exists, but scientists are wrong all the time and will never know everything so I’m pretty sure I have one. I’m going to say I have one. A near one. Not a complete one. I don’t want to be a liar. Or not be true to myself. Sorry.’

‘Stop saying sorry. And if you say you have one then…then until evidence is produced to the contrary you do. I believe you.’

His refusal to immediately shoot down her unscientific and unproven claims has made her look like she’s won something of great value. Something that she’s always wanted from him but could never risk betting a deep hope on. But she’s wrong to think this. This adjusted attitude of his is not a temporary prize to be won whenever he feels like holding the contest; he can feel that it’s a permanent modification. He also has no doubt that she’ll figure it out on her own, and will enjoy it much more than if he just told her. 

And then he thinks of something that could make her even happier. And how he can make it up to Dewey for how he behaved towards him.

Huey flips through his book until he comes to the page titled ‘Kroloz.’ His eyes scan the page and he sighs. He’s about to take the cap back off his pen when he suddenly stops, struck with doubt but also an immediate solution to it. He reaches up under his hat and takes out a pencil instead. He aims the graphite point downwards and, after a moment of stubborn uncertainty, draws a sharp straight line across the heading ‘Kroloz’ before he can change his mind. In the small space underneath it he writes in his neat copperplate script ‘Dewdonia. National Anthem Pending.’

Webby grins broadly. ‘He’ll love that!’

‘Yeah.’ Huey sighs the sigh of the long suffering and looks up from his book. May the Junior Woodchucks forgive him.

There’s a pause.

‘I wished I’d spent this trip with you too,’ Webby says softly. ‘The most time we spent together was being trapped by the plant. The plant our Pre-Trip Planning Binder failed to identify.’

‘It wasn't one of our finest efforts.’

‘Additional research from both historical and contemporary sources are needed before we plan the next trip. Ideally we would see first hand what there is and oh!' Webby jolts in her seat as an idea hits her. 'What if we form an advanced scouting party! We could identify hidden dangers before they come fatally visible.’

Huey nods in approval. ‘You and Dewey can be in charge of that. He can take recon photos while you go undercover to spy on the locals. And then rescue Dewey when he inevitably gets captured. Then we'll meet up at the manor and I'll document everything. I'll be in the library waiting for you.’

Webby waits for a moment and then shuffles as close to him as possible. After another second she lets her head fall onto his shoulder with a soft thump. It slots into place as if had been meant to fit there all along.

Without hesitation he leans his cheek onto the top of her head. He’s reminded of the warm sun on your face during the first proper day of Spring, when a fresh breeze is blowing out of the great North sky and life is full of nothing but promise and uncharted adventure.

He turns the page of his book, puts the pencil down and takes the cap back off his pen.

‘So tell me about your day.’


End file.
